Stepping Stones
by Caz-10-5
Summary: A few years on and Bosco has left the NYPD for new challenges. But can he help anyone else overcome their demons while he is still struggling with his own?


**Stepping Stones**

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Third Watch characters, in this reality at least.

A/N: This is set a few years in the future. Bosco has made the decision to leave the NYPD and move on to new challenges, working with JDs. Hopefully anything that is unclear will be clarified in future chapters, but if there's anything that confuses you, let me know! In fact, let me know whatever you think, I'd really like some input on this. So, leave a review or email me. All criticism is gratefully accepted, I can take it on the chin. (Though obviously I'm hoping you like it.)

I'm also looking for a beta-reader. Anyone who could check my characterization, point out any plot flaws and read through for style etc. would be greatly appreciated. Email me if you're interested.

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CHAPTER 1

Cold anger coursed through Joe, like an icy snowmelt-swollen river rushing through his veins, anger at all the people who had conspired against him to bring him to this point in his life, anger at all the people he had ever met in his fifteen years in this wretched, self-absorbed world. His face betrayed not a hint of emotion as he stared out of the window, watching the bleak trees flashing past the steamed-up window. They stood out as stark black skeletons against the fading light of the sky. He didn't notice, nor did he care about, the tiny green buds forming on the bare bony limbs, symbols of hope and new life in a cold, austere existence. He hated the trees for being there; all he wanted now was to be back in the city. His life wasn't any better there, but it was at least familiar. Here he didn't know what to expect and he was vulnerable.

His mask of uncaring defiance faltered as he remembered his sister's tear-stained face as the judge had spoken. He struggled with his emotions as he thought of Nicky but soon had them buried deeply again, holding on only to his anger. His anger was a protective blanket that they could never separate him from. As long as he had his anger he knew where he stood; they might be able to curb his freedom but he would not let them control his feelings.

The air was warm and damp in the car. He relished the discomfort, a reminder that however much these people pretended to care he could see through them. His well-being didn't really matter to them; they were only going through the motions, just doing their jobs. At the end of the day they would go home to their nice safe apartments, surrounded by their loving families and forget all about him. None of them knew how he felt, they only pretended to.

Their fake sympathy dripped from their tongues every time they opened their mouths, telling him they understood and that he could talk to them. He knew though; he watched them as they turned away, watched the caring expressions slide from their faces to be replaced by irritation at his unwillingness to cooperate with their schemes. His hatred rose within him, overtaking his smug satisfaction at his cleverness in dealing with them all. Alligators, that's what they were. They cried tears but their beady eyes were always flicking from side to side, watching for the slightest slip from him, and their comforting smiles hid rows of pointed teeth.

His nails dug into his palms and he closed his eyes, savoring the pain. This kind of pain he could deal with, and its sharpness distracted him from the dull ache deep within him. He dug his nails in deeper, allowing the hurt to sweep away all thoughts of Nicky. A small, twisted smile crept across his lips as he felt the blood seeping from the broken skin.

The twilight outside faded into dusk and the dusk faded into darkness. Soon he was staring back at his own reflection as the day died away. Still they sped along the highway, every second taking him that little bit further away from everything he knew. He felt himself becoming drowsy and reopened the cuts on his palms as he struggled to stay awake. He could not allow himself to let his guard down here. Fresh blood replaced the blood that had dried on his fingernails and he tore deeper into his flesh as they turned off the highway.

His legs were cramped from the long journey and his neck was beginning to ache from the way he had been craning his neck to look out of the window. He winced slightly as the car bounced along a rutted track, compounding the growing soreness in his body. He wasn't sure if he wanted this journey to be over. As much as he had hated it, the thought of what lay ahead filled him with an anxiety that threatened to overwhelm his precariously-balanced emotions. His anger had deserted him for now, leaving him defenseless against this unknown territory. Despite himself, he couldn't help but glance in front of him as the car swung around the corner and pulled up, it's headlights picking out the building that was to be 'home' for the foreseeable future. The high gates and wire fence offered the bleak, square building little screening. The miserable, gray, squat building caused a coldness to pass over him. It was so unwelcoming, so forbidding.

Bosco glanced at his watch as he ran his other hand through his hair tiredly. The room was dark except for his desk lamp, which cast distorted shadows against the blank walls. The contrast caused his face to look more haggard than it usually did; his eyes were dark sunken pits in the artificial paleness of his face. Mountains of paper covered his desk and the mere sight of them filled him with frustration. He tried to keep his desk in order, but it just kept coming, a never-ending ream of request forms and reports. That was one of the things he hated most about this job, the piles of bureaucratic crap he had to wade through to do any good. Of course that was nothing compared to the shit most of these kids had had thrown at them in their relatively short lives.

He sighed and shifted back in his chair, out of the pool of light. He removed his glasses carefully and set them down on the desk. Closing his eyes for a few seconds, he ran his fingers over the scar on his cheek. The sensitivity of his fingertips caused every bump and pucker to be magnified greatly in his head, so the action served only to compound his certainty that it was hideously disfiguring. In his mind's eye he always thought of himself as unblemished and it was still a shock every morning when he looked in the mirror to see a scarred, gaunt countenance gazing back. If it was a shock to him he knew it was more of a shock to others when they first met him. Some were better than others at hiding their initial shudder of revulsion, but he could always see that flicker in their eyes, that first instinctive reaction of horror, usually quickly hidden by the insidious wave of pity that crept into their faces.

His self-pitying contemplation was interrupted by an angry-sounding buzzer. He glanced at the monitor next to his computer screen and saw a car waiting at the gates. Showtime. He glanced back down at the notes in the file before him. Joe Tucker. He sighed, Joe most definitely had some demons to overcome; this was not going to be an easy ride. Locking his door swiftly behind him he hurried out to meet the newest addition to the group.

The gates swung open automatically, and Joe was struck by the sudden lack of sound. Apart from the quiet grating of the gates there was no other noise. It hadn't exactly been rowdy on the rest of the trip, but there had been other traffic about, or just the sound of the engine. For a moment there was complete silence as the gates stopped moving, giving an eerie impression of time standing still. Joe was almost relieved when the car moved forwards, crunching on the gravel.

His attention was caught by a movement by the building. A man stepped forwards, one hand raised to shield his eyes from the bright headlights. He wasn't tall, but was muscularly built and he held himself in such a way that Joe was immediately sure that this was not someone to mess with. The car stopped again and the driver got out, opening Joe's door to allow him out. Joe hesitated for a second, wondering if maybe he could just refuse to get out and they might take him back to the city. It seemed unlikely, so he unfolded his lanky frame out from the car seat, stretching his legs and neck out as inconspicuously as possible. He glanced around him disdainfully, a sullen expression coming over his face.

As he waited in front of the center he was momentarily caught like a rabbit in the sweeping headlights of the car. Bosco put a hand up to his face, protecting his eyes from the blinding light. He blinked rapidly, trying to rid his eyes of the spots of brightly-colored light that danced in front of them. His eyes grew accustomed to the dim light again and he watched as the driver and a gangly youth got out. He watched Joe trying to stretch his muscles out unobtrusively and felt a stab of empathy for the kid, having been cramped up in the car for so long. His own muscles felt stiff from hours slumped over his desk. Joe was glowering around him but Bosco had become an expert enough reader of body language to notice the insecurities shown by his posture. He slouched slightly, rounding his shoulders to minimize his height and hide his presence. Everything about him was tensed up and his hands were stuck deep in his pockets.

Bosco continued to study him silently, waiting until Joe turned towards him before stepping forwards. "Joe." It wasn't a question, more an acknowledgement, but Joe nodded slightly. Suddenly his surly demeanor seemed childish and out of place to Joe and all he wanted to do was hit the sack and forget about where he was.

Bosco noticed a little of Joe's tension slip away as he said his name, to be replaced by fatigue. There was a brief period of silence as he watched Joe watching him. Joe didn't seem affected by his scar, but it occurred to Bosco that the cloak of darkness might well be concealing its true hideousness.

Now that he was closer, Joe could see half of Bosco's face illuminated by the security lights. He wasn't old, but there were definite creases in his brow and around his eyes. His eyes were almost unreadable, pools of blue that might have been cold if it wasn't for their sadness. Bosco regarded Joe for another second and smiled slightly. "I'm Bosco." Joe nodded dumbly again. There was another pause. "Welcome to Forest Springs." There was a sardonic twist to his mouth and a hint of scorn in his voice as he said it and at first Joe thought it was directed at him. He tensed briefly, an unreadable look crossing his features, and Bosco kicked himself for the tone of his voice. He knew he should stick to straight-talking until he knew Joe better. Sarcasm was all too easily misconstrued. To Bosco's relief Joe relaxed again, either realizing the jibe was not directed at him or too tired to care.

Bosco turned his head slightly, glancing over at the driver. He heard a gasp from Joe and knew he'd exposed his scarred cheek to the harsh light. The bright security light threw stark shadows across his face, creating the impression of deep ravines and ridges. His eyes caught Joe's again and saw the shock in them. Joe felt a sudden surge of embarrassment at showing such a blatant reaction and almost apologized. Instead he caught himself and let his eyes wander off, fixed on some imaginary point in the middle-distance.

The driver set down his bag next to him and took the clipboard Bosco handed him. He signed quickly, barely bothering to read it and handed it back for Bosco to sign. "Good luck, Joe." A bubble of anger rose within Joe at being signed for like an inanimate parcel but as he watched the driver climb back into the car and pull away he was horrified to feel tears prickling behind his eyelids. He watched his last link with civilization disappear into the darkness, leaving him stranded in this desolate place. He shivered slightly, partly from the dismal atmosphere of the place but mainly because the bitter chill in the air had penetrated through his scruffy jacket.

His eyes followed the car until the faint glow of the headlights was no longer visible through the trees. For a few minutes longer he stood there, staring out into the darkness, until he became aware of a presence at his side. Not wanting to hurry Joe, Bosco waited silently for a while before he spoke. "C'mon, let's get you settled in." Bosco's voice was soft and unthreatening, but for once it didn't occur to Joe to do anything other than as he was told. Another tide of weariness swept over him and he wasn't sure how much longer he could force himself to stay awake for. Reaching down for his bag, he followed Bosco into the building, stumbling tiredly up the steps.

Their footsteps on the cold, hard floors reverberated through the deserted corridors as Bosco lead Joe through the seemingly maze-like center. He glanced over his shoulder at the boy. "You look like you could sleep for a week." There was no response from Joe and Bosco wasn't even sure if Joe had heard him. He seemed to be flying on auto-pilot now. Bosco sighed inwardly and hoped that the apathy was just a symptom of his tiredness. He was about to look away again when he noticed the blood on Joe's fingers. With an audible sigh this time he took one of Joe's hands and gently straightened his fingers out to reveal the crescent-shaped gashes in his palm. Joe tried half-heartedly to pull his hand back, but gave in as Bosco took his wrist and led him to the medical room. Joe remained impassive, only showing feeling as he flinched when Bosco applied the antiseptic. His eyes remained unfocused and the silence hung in the air until Bosco showed him to a room. "We'll talk in the morning." Bosco wasn't really expecting a response and he didn't get one. A pained expression flittered across his face as he paused for a second, watching Joe's ostensibly lifeless shell, before quietly closing the door behind him.

END OF CHAPTER 1


End file.
